


Padfoot and Moony's Excellent Adventures in Parenting

by BoxyP



Series: Bridging the Generations [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, M/M, Multi, TBWatH/TLaTS, Unconventional Families, parenting, unconventional relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxyP/pseuds/BoxyP
Summary: Lord Voldemort is fallen, the Wizarding world is in disarray, and Sirius may be up his freedom and his job at the Auror Office, what with Remus' blasted meddling stopping him from going after the traitorous rat, but he's certainly down one best friend and brother, and a good portion of his heart. Oh, and he's been given the biggest responsibility of his life - that of one helpless, squalling infant. Really, he doesn't quite know what James was thinking, leaving him Harry to raise, but at least he's still got Remus by his side, and there are always meddling good-meaning friends and bothersome family to fall back on when he's feeling overwhelmed. And who knows, maybe along the way, he can figure out what all this business of 'growing up' is that everyone keeps insisting it's high time he undertakes.A story of two young adults stumbling through life's biggest challenge, told in an overarching narrative and non-chronological vignettes interspersed throughout, and measured by the phases of the moon.





	1. 21.7.2004 (Epilogue)

**Author's Note:**

> As should be obvious from the summary, this is an AU of canon. Changes during the Marauder era resulted in the events of the First Wizarding War taking a differing turn - the Light received no warning about the prophecy, leading to the Potters' deaths occurring when Harry is only five months old, and Remus' close friendship with Lily Evans led to his earlier maturation, which gave him the confidence to stop Sirius from making the biggest mistake of his life, namely going after Peter Pettigrew. That's left two twenty-year-olds a bit stuck with a baby they never asked for, but it's James' son, so it's pretty inconceivable that either Sirius or Remus would refuse to fulfill their best friend's wish. Putting it into long-term practice, though... well, that's what this story is about. Have no fear, relevant information will be given as necessary, including all the explanations on differences from canon and how those occurred.
> 
> The story will be roughly non-linear (I'm starting it with the epilogue, after all), however, most of the big events will happen chronologically relative to each other, and there will be several familiar faces popping up, though their involvement will be only in directly relating to Sirius and Remus' parenting of Harry. Their stories are depicted in my other works, for those who are interested (more at the end of the chapter).

**Epilogue**

**21 June 2004**  
**Waxing Crescent**  
**(12%)**

When Sirius and Remus arrive at St. Mungo’s neonatal ward around eight in the morning on June 21st, they find Harry sitting on a wide chair, bent over his lap a bit. There is a large pale blue pillow almost engulfing his thighs, wedged between the armrests of the chair, and the most precious of things rest on it, holding Harry’s attention as arrested as the golden glint of a Snitch zooming in the distance always does. He’s clearly been up all night, Sirius can tell at just a glance – his robes are rumpled and creased, his hair is even wilder than usual, if that’s possible at all, and there are bags under his eyes, exhaustion in the line of his back. It’s a familiar enough sight that Sirius finds his lips tugging into a smile. But then Remus knocks on the doorframe to let him know they’re there, and the look on Harry’s face when he meets their eyes is such a mixture of stunned amazement, terrified excitement and boastful pride that for a moment Sirius stops seeing Harry at all – instead, he sees another young adult with wild black hair and round glasses, sitting in quite a similar chair with a similar precious load in his lap and the exact same impression on his face. It knocks the breath out of Sirius’ lungs.

“Hi,” Harry says very quietly, blue eyes sparkling from too much moisture behind his glasses, and the mirage shatters, leaving Sirius feeling like a deflated balloon, a familiar feeling twenty-four years old. He’s learned how to let it pass without bringing him down, for the most part, but he always needs a moment to reorient himself and collect his bearings, to let the memories come and then wash away again.

He’s made a promise, a long time ago, that Harry won’t ever be James’ replacement to Sirius, and he’s kept that promise to the best of his abilities. He thinks he’s done it well enough, all things considered.

“Hello, Prongslet,” Remus speaks, because Remus always knows when Sirius needs him to step in. He’s the first to cross the threshold into the room, to walk over to their amazing kid and run his fingers affectionately through Harry’s messy hair.

Harry’s got another nickname, has had it since Hogwarts, really, but this is the one that’s just for them, for their once little, now significantly growing pack.

Harry’s also, at almost twenty-four, far too old to have one of his parents (essentially if not in title) run their fingers through his hair, but he doesn’t say anything about that, either. For all his boyish insistence on being seen as older than he is and never being treated as a girl might be (overt emotional displays somehow always end up being seen as feminising, it seems), Harry has in reality always been very open to physical affection. In some of the quiet moments, when melancholy and those black moods tug at Sirius and make him doubt himself and his place in Harry’s life, Remus always likes to point out that this is a good thing, and that it is Sirius’ doing, not only because he’s inadvertently surrounded Harry by canines of various types, dogs and wolves, animals and Animagi, affectionate and social species all and one, but also because Sirius’ own childhood had been devoid of something as important as that, and consciously or not, Sirius knew how much such a thing hurt, how much there is to physical affection, even at the parentally clumsy, too-young age of twenty-one.

Seeing the way Harry even leans a bit into Remus’ touch, Sirius is glad he’s done something right.

“Congratulations, Dad,” Remus says, grinning. “Won’t you introduce me to my great-nephews?”

“You mean grandkids,” Harry replies, smile morphing into a mischievous grin. “You know you raised me as much as Sirius did; you deserve the title.”

“I’m too young to be a grandfather,” Remus complains with a shake of his head, though they all know he doesn’t actually mean it. “I’ve barely gotten used to being a dad, you know.”

“Right,” Sirius snorts, stepping into the room to join them. “Don’t even pretend you think you’re new at it. As if I’d have ever pulled it off without you,” he tells his best friend and partner in this great endeavour – they’re still at it, even if their roles have reversed. It’s the time for late babies, it seems, and early ones, too. Sirius can’t complain either way; he was barely twenty-one when Harry had come to him, and he’s quite comfortable with the idea that that’s it for him, really, he neither planned nor wanted more kids, but at forty-four, he does find that he likes playing uncle to Remus’ boys, maybe even something of a third wheel parent, when it’s needed of him. It makes him appreciate Remus’ role in his upbringing of Harry all over again.

“See, Moony? We all agree,” Harry tells him, and it’s enough for Remus to sigh and smile.

“All right, then, fine, you win.”

“Now, proper introductions, and don’t skimp on the pride,” Sirius orders. “Soon enough you won’t be able to claim their achievements for your own, so you better get plenty of it while you’ve got the chance.”

It makes Harry laugh, because after everything that’s happened in his life, he understands perfectly well what Sirius actually means with his words. They summon the two chairs by the wall, one to sit on each side of him, and Harry looks down with the soppiest expression Sirius has ever seen on his face – he is _utterly_ in love with these two tiny, tiny people, and he’s only met them eight hours ago.

“Moony, this is James,” he says, sliding his hands with infinite care under the fragile head of the newborn to the left, dusted with dark hair and with eyes closed, skin still wrinkled and pinkish, and Remus is immediately there to accept the babe when Harry lifts him off the pillow. And Remus, like every other time Sirius has seen him hold a newborn, be it his own son or Lily’s baby twenty-four years ago, settles the delicate thing against his chest and smiles that smile that never fails to make Sirius’ breath catch in his throat from how gentle it is.

Harry turns back to the pillow and repeats the process with the newborn closer to Sirius. “And Padfoot, meet your namesake.”

There’s a lump in Sirius’ throat when he accepts the little Sirius, when the tiny thing opens his eyes to squint up at him and shift a bit in his hands, and he remembers holding Harry like this, a quarter of a century ago, when his father had handed him in just the same way to Sirius. Remembers, too, that squalling, heart-broken, confused and afraid five-month-old that he’d fought so hard for, and had tried to do the best by that he could.

“All right, no way did you name them only that,” Sirius declares to hide the tears that start stinging his eyes. “Out with it – what are their full names?”

Harry snorts and shakes his head as he leans over to run the tip of his finger against baby Sirius’ closed fist. “You know us both too well, don’t you?”

“How could I not? You’re both as much my family as each other. Besides, we Blacks are a pretentious lot, and I know you’re one whether your name is Potter or not.”

It earns him a grin – Harry’s always considered the various members of the Black family as his own kin (he’s called Sirius’ brother ‘Uncle Reggie’ since he was old enough to talk, after all), and perhaps that’s the consequence of Sirius’ hidden possessiveness coming to the fore, that he’s allowed Harry to put the Potter name and history a bit more to the side than was perhaps advisable, but after the thorny road of parenthood they’ve all travelled, are travelling, or will be travelling, it doesn’t seem like such an inexcusable crime, compared to all the others. A little Black pretentiousness won’t harm the Potter offspring, because, after all, they _could_ be nothing but Potters, since Harry, for all his closeness to Sirius’ family, is still a Potter in the end, in his blood, still the head of that Pure-blood house, once numbering only one, now gone up to four.

Pulling back, Harry turns his attention to little James in Remus’ arms, as if he can’t help himself flit from one to the other, as if he can’t bear to split his attention, and yet he must. When he speaks, there’s mirth in his voice.

“Castor James and Pollux Sirius Potter.”

Remus loves it, of course, bursts into raucous though still quiet laughter. But then Sirius does, too, because somehow it’s perfectly ridiculous and at the same time ridiculously perfect.

“Harry, you two are too cruel!”

Harry’s grin is as bright as the sun.

“But it fits, Moony,” Sirius reminds him. “They _are_ twins, and I can’t think of a more famous pair than the famed Gemini.”

“‘Dioscuri’ is actually the more mythological term,” Remus corrects. “But yes, it’s definitely appropriate, and for all sorts of reasons. For instance, today is the last day of the zodiac sign of Gemini.”

They grin at each other, because how can they not?

“They’re going to be utter terror, won’t they, Moony?”

“And they’ve already got their own nicknames, at barely eight hours old. Prongslet, I do think you two have outdone yourselves with this little mess.”

“Right?” Harry agrees, and they all know they’re talking about far more than just names that are appropriately pretentious and at the same time full of symbolism – the only proper way to do things in the Wizarding world. “We _have_ done good, haven’t we? I didn’t think we could do this well.”

“You two’ve done amazingly,” Sirius confirms, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder, Remus doing the same on the other side. “We’re so very proud of you, kiddo, and James and Mary would have been, too.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Harry whispers, bending his head into Sirius’ shoulder exhaustedly, so that Sirius can wrap his arm around his boy’s shoulder and hold him close, and it’s possibly one of the most perfect moments of his life, with his son warming his side and one grandson’s weight in the crook of his arm, with his best friend’s warm eyes meeting his and his other grandson in his best friend’s protective hold.

All things considered, Sirius doesn’t know how they could ever have done any better than this, and for just one moment, one single moment since the day he’d taken Harry’s trusting, innocent weight into his arms on Christmas of 1980, he doesn’t feel that hole in his heart where James used to be, doesn’t feel the shadow of the young man who had been more than even a brother to him hanging over them.

It’s more than he could ever have imagined having in his life, when he’d said yes to being Harry’s godfather, Harry’s guardian and protector, Harry’s second father, and he’s never felt more humble – or more proud – than he does right now. It’s a feeling he knows he’ll protect with everything that’s still in him, until the day he joins the one who should have, by right, been in his place.

He knows James wouldn’t mind, though. And that’s all he needs to be guiltlessly happy. **  
**


	2. 25.12.1980 (Part 1)

**25 December 1980**  
**Waning Gibbous**  
**(82%)**

**Part 1**

Sirius’ big present to James and Mary for Christmas of 1980 is to sneak into their snug little house in Godric’s Hollow and entertain Harry while they sleep in. It’s not exactly an easy thing to do, given Sirius doesn’t really know much about babies who aren’t even five months old yet, but that doesn’t discourage him. After all, there’s been some circus-level juggling of the three newborns that the Order’s been oh so unexpectedly blessed with, and Sirius _has_ picked up some things (willingly or not).

The Order of the Phoenix numbers a decent amount of people, and there’s something of a generational divide between the ‘mature’ members (read: ‘older’) and the ‘youngsters’ (read: ‘inexperienced’); the division’s become especially pronounced once their group of Hogwarts graduates joined, what with how many of them ended up joining right out the gate, at ages eighteen. There’s the four of them, of course (James, Sirius, Remus and Peter, that is), and there’s also the girl contingent, who are perhaps a bit less involved in some cases, but are considered part of the Order nonetheless – Saint Perfect Head Girl Lily sodding Evans leads the charge (as annoying as she ever was, naturally; she and Sirius have disliked each other for years, with no interest in changing that on either side), and there’s also her best friend Alice née Ainsworth, now Longbottom (who’s just been promoted from Junior Auror to Auror), and Mary née Macdonald, now Sirius’ lovely sister-in-law-though-sadly-not-by-blood, as well as Clotilde Babineaux (both of whom are more of adjunct members, really, assisting from the sides – Mary with her Herbology expertise and vast greenhouses on the Potter Estate, and Clotilde with her connections to private businesses that none of them are sure how she even got); the last member of that group, Bettina Summerville, has been keeping her distance, but that suits Sirius very well if it’s all the same to her, since she’s Harry’s godmother and Sirius rather resents having to share that position with her.

There are other members in the younger generation, of course – Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance, Clara Shanwick, Amir Shafiq, Fab–

Well, there _were_. Sirius has gone to more funerals in the last five months than he’d had to attend in his life before the war started in earnest, and that’s saying something, given that he’s formerly of the House of Black, which is almost famed for having people dying practically in their early middle age, all in their seventies and sixties and even fifties in some cases. But so many of their friends, there for Harry’s birth, are now in the ground – Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Marlene McKinnon and her family, Edgar Bones and his wife Melania. Dorcas Meadowes, who should have been but was saved by some fluke of luck, hasn’t woken since. And they’ve lost three times more than just those since the war came out of the shadows and the political arena, and whether he’s known them well or not, Sirius has felt the loss in a way he’s never thought possible. He’s never cared much about the people in his own family dying, and he’s thought it’s just a part of who he is, a part of being a Black – after all, he grieved far more for Uncle Alphard’s death than his own father’s – but he thinks he’s been proven wrong on that point.

He’s grown to be afraid, deep down inside, of losing even more people to this blasted, bloody war and the madman who’s pushing it further. Even though the ministry has won some very important points in the last year, Sirius has grown afraid, because now it’s not just them, not just twenty-year-olds fighting for what they stand for, not just romanticising the struggle for freedom and equality and all that shite – and it really _is_ shite, once you get down to it, Sirius has started realising, because war is bloody and stressful and terrifying, and when you’re in the thick of it, romantic notions of nebulous concepts like freedom and equality don’t mean fuck all, not in the face of losing your life or the people you love – now it’s far more than that, because there are three infants in the mix.

How it’s come about that three girls in their group got pregnant at the same time, Sirius can’t really figure out. It’s not like any of them planned it, really, not in the middle of the deadliest year of the ten-year conflict, the year that’s seen them lose more people involved in the fighting than they lost in the first eight years put together. But, however it came about, it transpired that Mary, Alice and Saint Evans all ended up with buns in their ovens, and so close together that they were all due in the same week, too, which makes everyone in the Order suspicious about it being a targeted plan by the opposition, though why they’d think this would in any way be useful to the war effort, none can think up.

It’s not like they’re _important_ , exactly. Alice is, because she’s a full-fledged Auror, but Mary only grows plants for the Order’s potioneers, and Saint Evans, for all that she’s very vocal and creative in the Order, and has risen up in the ranks with meteoric speed, is a Charms Journeyman, still in training for her Mastery. She fights on the front lines far more than Mary ever did, but certainly less than Alice used to, and being pregnant or a new mother hasn’t made her stupid that Sirius has noticed – hormonal and even more difficult to deal with than usual, but she’s as sharp as ever (and all right, Sirius can admit that Saint Evans’ brains are some of the most finely honed he’s run into, especially in their age group; since getting involved with the war effort back in their sixth year, she’s grown so savvy in the wizarding political arena that Sirius gets caught off guard by her insights far more than he’d thought he ever could, especially as she seems to be excellent at taking Muggle concepts and applying them to wizarding situations to create something the other side can’t fucking expect at all).

And as for the fathers – well, Frank is as important as Alice, of course, but no matter how much they like to imagine themselves heroes, the Marauders really aren’t there yet. They may have managed to get on the Auror Training fast track, but they’re still Junior Aurors, the second smallest cogs in that particular large machine, so it’s not like James carries so much weight in the grand scheme of things. And Sirius still has no clue whatsoever who Saint Evans’ son’s father is, if it isn’t Remus (which he constantly claims he’s not, though given that Sirius’ trust in him has waned again – or maybe has never recovered from their Summer of Silence back in 1976 – he’s not exactly super confident in that answer).

Be that as it may, he’s gotten to be around three infants on a fairly regular basis, seeing how babysitting has become part of young Order’s regularly scheduled meeting agenda, which means that he is not so dumb that he can’t get one of the stored milk bottles from the ice box and heat it up to the proper temperature to feed Harry first thing in the morning. Mary explained about dripping a few drops onto his own wrist, and while she usually nurses Harry, if she’s extra busy with something, she leaves a few bottles of her milk for them to feed to him – though Harry sure hates the gummy cap compared to his mother’s nipple.

But Sirius manages to feed him this one time, and even tries his hand at changing his nappy, because _good lord of mercy,_ can he stink it up. That’s not exactly the most successful endeavour of the morning, as Sirius really didn’t pay nearly enough attention to the process when Mary was teaching James, but he makes sure to clean Harry’s bum thoroughly, and he wraps the big white cloth well enough nothing should leak out for the hour or two it needs to stay on before Mary can fix it up properly.

Sirius loves playing with Harry – at almost five months old, Harry is a big shining ray of happiness. He’s got James’ wild hair and round face (however much one can tell these things with all the baby fat in place), and he’s got Mary’s big blue eyes, and he grins all the time. He also loves trying to walk, or thereabouts; he’s too little for it, of course, but Saint Evans insists that there’s nothing wrong with holding him up and letting him put weight on his little legs (Saint Evans has some very strange ideas about childrearing in general, Sirius is _very_ certain it’s all Muggle bollocks, but Mary is also Muggle-born, and James loves pleasing Mary, plus, of course, Remus always sides with Saint Evans these days, so Sirius is pretty outnumbered on this front).

Another thing Harry really likes is being entertained – not talking specifically, though he’s certainly an extroverted baby who likes people around him, but let James’ snitch fly around and he’ll be entranced by it for hours, even struggling to crawl after it. When Mary’s not home, Sirius transforms into Padfoot and lets Harry tug on his tail and try to clamber over him, pat his muzzle and flick his ears. Sirius already knows what to get him for his first birthday – the baby broom toy. It’s not for toddlers who can’t walk, so it’s gonna have to wait for next summer rather than now for Christmas, but given how much Harry seems to like motion and activity, he’s sure it’ll be a perfect present.

They play together for the hour and a half it takes for Mary to wake up. Sirius conjures his Patronus and lets the silvery dog tickle Harry, making the baby giggle riotously, the sound feeling like a soothing balm on Sirius’ anxieties. They practice standing a bit, Sirius careful to hold Harry properly under the armpits to keep him from either falling or overstressing his legs. He tells Harry one of the Marauders’ stories, and though he knows Harry can’t possibly understand any of it, he’s still amazed by how well the little boy picks up on the lilt of Sirius’ voice, making serious faces when the story turns serious, looking unimpressed when Sirius’ storytelling turns flat and mocking, laughing when it’s the happy ending. Until he’s gotten to know Harry, Sirius has never thought much about children, about babies in particular – he’s always thought of them as pooping, peeing machines who cry and need to be constantly fed and changed, and generally are rather boring and annoying until they’re old enough to walk and talk. It’s probably because the only child in his family younger than him was his brother Regulus, and he was only a year younger anyway, which means that Sirius doesn’t remember a single thing of how Reggie was when he was this age.

Now he knows better, of course, and he already loves Harry so much it sometimes hurts to think about it. It’s the same way he feels about James – actually, it’s the way he’s only ever felt about James, until Harry. Not even going to war with Remus for the Summer of Silence in 1976 or having Reggie abandon him for Voldemort and the Dark hurt as much as he thinks it’d hurt not to have Harry or, Merlin forbid, James in his life anymore. Six days shy of five months old, and Harry’s got so much individuality and personality that Sirius thinks he can be nothing but his own person, loved for who he is (engaging, inquisitive, hyperactive, sunny) and not what he is (son of Sirius’ best friend and brother).

By the time Mary comes down from the bedroom, Harry’s lost his wind and is happy to lie on Sirius’ chest while Sirius winds his story down, running his hand in gentle motions over Harry’s back.

“Happy Christmas,” Mary says with a raised eyebrow. “I suppose you’re to thank for how much sleep I got this morning, then?”

Mary’s most striking feature is her hair, which is a rich chestnut colour and very, very thick, falling down almost to her elbows. She likes to braid it over her shoulder, and though it’s by all accounts a simple braid, it always looks almost exotic, just because there’s so much hair in it. Sirius thinks she’s far less pretty than Saint Evans, but he prefers her steadiness to her friend’s feisty fire, which has always had Sirius on guard. Mary is calmer; she doesn’t say things unless she feels that they are worth saying, so people always think she’s shy. She’s certainly more introverted than the rest of them, but shy is not the word Sirius would ever use for her – she’s never had any trouble letting any of them know when she’s displeased with them.

But Sirius likes her quite a bit. After Saint Evans burned James’ heart so badly in sixth year, Mary came as a balm to Sirius’ best friend, and she sort of snuck up on all the Marauders, really. James didn’t set out trying to win her over, didn’t really set out to even look at her twice, from what Sirius knows. Sirius is pretty certain he noticed her first, on account of her being willing to take Saint Evans to task when none of her other friends ever really tried to, something that earned her some big points with him. And most of the end of sixth year and beginning of seventh year, she was simply there, not espousing about the war effort, not loud about her Muggle heritage, but still heard when she wanted to be heard, standing up for James and Peter and even Sirius a time or two, and before he knew it, James was turned around.

Sirius remembers what he was like back when he was all about Perfect Prefect Lily Evans, cocky and confident and flirting outrageously with her every chance he got, like a peacock who couldn’t help but spread his colourful tail for everyone and sunder to see, on the off chance that Evans might finally notice. Sirius hated it then, and he still hates to think of it now, because it may have been James’ way, but it never _worked_ , and it made him seem desperate by the end, which was just pathetic, especially because Sirius always felt that James could do so much better than Saint Evans.

He turned out to be different with Mary; still flirting like it was a world sporting event, of course, he wouldn’t be James if he wasn’t acting like that, but more grounded, less outrageous about it. It reminded Sirius more of how he was like that summer of 1976, when he was around Athenora Adelmann (whom, incidentally, Sirius had also liked, right up until she’d gone and revealed her true self to them) – less desperate, Sirius had figured out a long, long time later; less desperate and more intent (though no doubt James would until his dying day not be able to see the truth in this).

Mary ended up being a tough nut to crack, though, in some ways as tough as Saint Evans always seemed like to have been. Mary certainly never tolerated the Marauders’ behaviour she disliked, but where Evans had always turned all self-righteous and loud about it, Mary had this disappointed look she gave people and then she would say a clipped sentence or two about it and keep her silence afterwards. Sirius knows, is dead convinced, that this made all the difference, though he’s not quite clear on how exactly, and James refuses to explain. Why Evans’ behaviour would provoke one type of action from James, and Mary’s, completely another, he has no clue, but whatever it is, in the first case, each successive action James took got him further and further away from his goal, whereas in the second, it got him closer, until he and Mary finally got together in the second half of their seventh year.

The height of irony being, of course, that about when James and Mary started circling each other, James and Evans came together as friends like a house on fire. It’s one of the most baffling things Sirius has ever witnessed in his life, and he still can’t get his head around it, but they’ve been relatively close friends ever since Hogwarts, and neither has Mary ever seemed at all jealous of them, nor has James ever expressed anything but genuine happiness at Saint Evans being apparently single and yet still getting herself up the spout and mum as the dead on the topic.

Of course, there _is_ the fact that James insisted they stop playing more violent pranks on people, and Snivellus in particular (Sirius hadn’t, of course, until the one time which shall never, ever be mentioned or even thought about, and he’s not really stopped since then, but all right, he’s toned it down, fair was fair and Sirius _is_ a Gryffindor, unlike Snivellus, and gets the concepts of nobility and chivalry), but Sirius doesn’t think that had anything to do with why Mary fell for James, only with why Evans became suddenly all friendly to them. She always did act like an idiot around Snivelly, even if they’ve not been on any sort of congenial, let alone friendly, terms since the end of fifth year. Sirius really did think James would have cured her of it when he proved to her that Snivellus is just like all the other Death Eater aficionados, that day by the lake during their O.W.L.s when he’d gotten Snivelly to call her ‘Mudblood’, but though it’s put a stop to their associations, it’s apparently not changed much of anything else, including Remus getting all judgmental about it (he blames Saint Evans for the Summer of Silence that year, personally, though he’s not exactly forgiven Remus for calling him a psychopath and claiming that he’s the same as any old Death Eater; he’s let it pass, because James insisted and because he missed Remus and because he might have been willing to admit, deep, deep, _deep_ down that he wasn’t totally guiltless of causing Remus hurt, but he’s not forgiven and _definitely_ not forgotten, and it’s been hanging over them since).

However things came about, though, in the end, Sirius is quite happy with them. Mary likes him way, way more than Saint Evans ever might, and he returns the sentiment; she also gets Sirius’ position in James’ life and how important James is to Sirius, and she doesn’t mind him hanging about their house more often than not when he and James aren’t working. Keeping Harry entertained so that she can get some proper sleep is the least he can do for the woman who’s made Sirius’ best friend so effortlessly happy.

“My Christmas present for you, Maid Marian,” Sirius says grandly, offering her his cockiest smile, which never fails to make her roll her eyes at him.

“One day I’ll get fed up with you breaking into our house at the most inconvenient of times, and you’ll get it from me, but luckily for you, today is not that day,” she declares, pushing away from the doorframe to peck his cheek, before taking Harry off his chest and rubbing her nose gently against his, making him giggle. “You’re lucky he didn’t pee all over you, by the way,” she says as she takes him to the changing station in the corner of the living room, “this binding you did is atrocious.”

“We can’t all be experts like you, Mary.”

“No, but if James learned the basics, I’m sure you can, too.”

“Where is Prongs, anyway? Still sleeping?” Sirius asks, rising to his feet.

“Like the dead,” Mary confirms. “You try rousing him, you apparently have some sort of secret power for it. I’d ask you to teach me, but...”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed with a nod, grinning at her. “What are the plans for tonight? I’m stuck at the office, but I know James wrangled the day off, lucky bugger.”

“That’s what happens when you’re still single instead of having a baby and a wife at home to celebrate the holidays with,” Mary agreed. “We’re staying in, just the three of us. I expect you won’t be crashing the party.”

It’s an order worded to sound a bit like a question, and Sirius is happy enough to obey it; it’s only been a few days since Remus’ last full moon, which he _again_ hasn’t spent with the rest of them (and Sirius is suspicious as _hell_ about what the werewolf boy does when he claims to be spying for Dumbledore on the werewolf packs he’s now apparently in regular contact with – they have a leak somewhere in the Order, someone’s spying for the other side, and Sirius doesn’t like to think it, but Remus _does_ have the most contact with the other side of all of them). He figures he should check in with his friend, see whether he’s back on his feet or not.

Of course, there’s the danger of running into Saint Evans and her kid (Evan Evans – she couldn’t have been less creative if she _tried_ ; Sirius pities the kid, he really does), because she and Remus have been thick as thieves since the Summer of Silence, when, apparently, Remus actually went and stayed with her for two weeks, but he’ll risk it. They dislike each other, but it’s not like they’re not on generally congenial terms – they work together, more or less, tolerating Evans is just part of the package, really – and to be fair, her kid isn’t all that bad, either, as babies go. He’s certainly better than Alice’s fussy Neville, though much more quiet and still compared to Harry, sort of extremely focused on things that keep his attention, which tend to be everything but people (seems to _hate_ new people, or is maybe afraid of them or something, Sirius doesn’t know or care all that much), so it’s not hard to sometimes even forget he’s there in the room with you until he gets cranky, and then you really, really can’t not notice. No one likes Sirius being near that particular baby, Remus included, and they all think that Sirius hasn’t noticed, but to be fair, he also doesn’t give a fig one way or the other, so he lets it go. Harry’s perfect enough for him.

He jumps onto James and Mary’s bed, transforming mid-flight, and as Padfoot he drapes himself over his best friend and starts licking at his ear, making sure to slobber plentifully.

“Fuck off, you wanker!” James moans into his pillow and starts batting at him with the arm not buried under him. “Merlin, geroff, wouldya!”

Sniggering once he's back in human form, Sirius stretches himself out on Mary’s side of the bed and props his hands behind his head.

“Happy Christmas, arsehole.”

“Not with your spit in my ear, it’s not,” James grumbles, wiping furiously at his ear, before the clock catches his attention. “Wait, is it already half ten? Where’s Harry, how’ve I slept through his waking?”

“He’s fine, he’s with your darling wifey,” Sirius assures him. “And I made sure he wouldn’t wake you. You better appreciate the Christmas present, cause I don’t have another one for you.”

Turning over, James gives him a wide grin. “Look at you, Padfoot, being all mature and godfatherly.”

“I solemnly swore, didn’t I?” Sirius replies haughtily, making James snort.

“That you’re up to no good, perhaps. Not much else. You forget, Padfoot, I know you better than you know yourself. Now come on, let’s have some breakfast and then you’ve gotta skedaddle, my darling wifey has planned our whole day, and it unfortunately doesn’t include you.”

“I know, poor me, stuck all alone at the Auror Office on Christmas afternoon. What _shall_ I do with myself?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive, drama queen. Go see Remus if you’re so bored after your shift.”

“And deal with Saint Evans and her spawn, too?” Sirius groans, though he’s already decided it’s acceptable cost.

“You might not call him that; he’s got a name, you know.”

“I honestly don’t think that anyone who’s heard it even _once_ could forget. Evan Evans; Merlin, the amount of creativity that had to go into naming that poor sprog!”

“That’s just until the end of the war, then he’ll get a proper last name.”

Raising his head sharply, Sirius pins his best friend with a look.

“So it wasn’t a one-night stand that got her up the spout after all. You know who the kid’s father is, don’t you? Tell me.”

But James is already shaking his head. “No way; I told you to let that go, Sirius.”

“What _is it_ with you and that harpy? Are you _still_ in love with her?”

“What? No! No, Sirius, she’s just a very good friend and I happen to respect her situation enough not to compound to it by telling you her personal shite that you don’t need to know. When it’s safe for everyone, the truth will out, and until then, get the whole topic out of your mind, yeah? I mean it, Padfoot.”

“Ugh, fine, but don’t think I’ll forget you refused to tell me. You and Remus both. It’s not him, is it?”

The way that James grimaces is about answer enough.

“No, Sirius, it’s _really_ not Remus.”

“She doesn’t seem suspicious of him,” he has to note. “You’d think that if she were so worried about her personal information coming out, she’d be more cautious around him.”

“Actually, her trust in him makes me doubt _myself_ about doubting him,” James admits quietly. “I still can’t shake the feeling that something’s going on with him, but Lily’s judgment is usually good enough on these things that I’d trust her...”

“Except she’s too close to him to be willing to see if he really _has_ turned sides, you mean,” Sirius finishes for him, and by his best friend’s face, he knows he’s right.

“Well, the information is leaking _somewhere_ , after what happened last month I’m certain of it, and whether you and I like it or not, Remus _is_ a Dark creature, and he’s been spending so much time around Voldemort-leaning packs... I hate to think it, but given what we know of his condition, how they socialise and band together so quickly and tightly–”

“The possibility he’s been turned is far too high, and if Evans refuses to see it, then that’s on her head, but you and I will know better.”

“I just hate that he’s picked up on it, that’s all. We don’t have any proof, just suspicions, so if it’s not him, then we’re being extremely unfair, and if it is him, then he’ll know to be covering his tracks.”

“He’s betrayed us once,” Sirius reminds him, but James shakes his head.

“No, what happened in fifth year wasn’t his betrayal, Padfoot, that was on us, and I wish you’d try to see the truth of it. But we’re not going to debate that now; it’s Christmas and I’m not in the mood for rehashing old disagreements, so we’re gonna go downstairs and have breakfast and open presents, and then you’ll go to work and I’ll spend the day with Mary and Harry, and in the evening, you go check up on Remus, keep an eye on him if Lily and Evan come over too – they might not, I don’t know if she’s going to spend time with Evan’s father instead, I’ve no clue where those two stand at all – and once the holidays are over, we’ll sit down with Dumbledore and figure out a way to suss out the spy. You know holidays always lull Moldyshorts’ supporters into a stupor; only bloody time our side gets any rest in this fucking war.”

Sighing, Sirius concedes; that argument is four years old, and it’s one of the only arguments he and James haven’t managed to meet up on – what exactly happened in June of 1976, when Remus condemned James, Sirius and Peter for causing Lily sodding Evans _pain and suffering_ by making Snivelly reveal his true colours out by the Black Lake, and then called them wannabe murderers like the Death Eaters for that prank Sirius had pulled on Snivellus earlier that year, letting him glimpse a bit of Remus during the full moon, even though nothing had happened and they’d even gotten Dumbledore to force Snivelly to keep silent about Remus’ condition, a right bargain in Sirius’ opinion, but Remus got all up in arms over it four months later (and is still more or less upset about it, though it’s one of those topics that have never come up in conversation since the beginning of their sixth year, so Sirius never even thinks on it at all anymore), and then threatened to _make_ Sirius and James do what he wanted them to do, which was one thing Sirius would _never_ abide by. They’d cut all ties between him and their group for the whole summer, and even though they made up once they’d gotten back to Hogwarts, after Sirius had run away from home and been disowned, and James had had a change of heart about some of the things that had been said that day, Sirius, unlike James apparently, has never seen any proof whatsoever that Remus was the one in the right, and he himself in the wrong, and so the whole thing remains an unresolved point of contention that he and James both dislike bringing up, because they both hate any sort of conflict in their friendship.

While Sirius has joked about his present being extra time for sleep for the new parents, it’s not actually the _only_ present he’s gotten them, and he’s placed the three he’s brought with on the pile under the Christmas tree upon initial arrival at the house in Godric’s Hollow. They eat breakfast, Harry sitting in Mary’s lap and waving a small spoon around excitedly, finding entertainment in banging it against the edge of the table while they eat and talk and laugh, and surprised though he is, Sirius finds that this Christmas is even better than the last few, now Harry’s with them.

He says good-bye to his surrogate family and Disapparates from their house – like most wizarding homes, they have anti-Apparition, but not anti-Disapparition wards set up, since everyone these days is worried about unannounced and likely hostile people coming in, while wanting to keep exit options available. Fifteen minutes later, he’s gone through the security controls at the Ministry and is ensconced at his desk in the Auror Corps spaces, for once the room all Junior Aurors share not cramped and bustling as it normally is. Mostly, it’s a boring afternoon, answering a domestic or two and whittling his paperwork down, and if he’d known there was going to be so much paperwork involved with this job... well, he’d have still become an Auror, but it would have been nice to know beforehand.

He certainly doesn’t think too much about what James, Mary and Harry are doing with their day off as he rests his head on his hands over the parchment piles and shuts his eyes for just a long, boring moment.

Nothing bad ever _really_ happens on Christmas; he might as well catch up on a bit of sleep.


	3. 25.12.1980 (Part 2)

**25 December 1980**  
**Waning Gibbous**  
**(78%)**

**Part 2**

“Sirius! Padfoot, where the _fuck_ are you! _Sirius_!”

Jerking out of his doze, Sirius shoots up in his chair, instantly alarmed and on guard.

“Whu– I’m here, what, what?!” he shouts back, getting to his feet just as Remus bursts through the door, and the way he looks is like a punch in the gut, wild and dangerous and panicking. “How did you manage to get in here, Remus?” There is a reception area for the Auror offices, but the witch or wizard on call there doesn’t usually let people come back here, and they’d certainly not let a registered werewolf do so.

“James, it’s James and Mary, they– Sirius, something’s happened in Godric’s Hollow.”

Ice shoots through Sirius’ heart, panic welling up, and he’s across the room in three steps, pulling the illegal modified Portkey out of his pocket even as he grabs hold of Remus’ wrist to tug him towards the Ministry exit; there are anti-Portkey wards all over the Ministry, and even if there weren’t, if he got caught using an unregistered, and worse, _modified_ Portkey, he’d be booted out before he even lands on the other side.

“What happened? Tell me!”

“An attack, they... I just got word from Lily, she– oh, God, Padfoot–”

“ _Tell me!_ ” Sirius barks out, sounding more like his alternate form than himself, fighting over the ringing in his ears, the blind, choking panic that’s clouding his thoughts. _Not James, please not James,_ he thinks and something dark and desolate blooming inside him tells him it’s already too late.

“Lily’s in contact with a spy we’ve got, in the other side’s ranks. She said that he told them–” Remus covers his mouth with his hand, makes a retching sound, doesn’t slow a step as they run, as fast as they can, towards the Ministry exit, pushing the few protesting Christmas stragglers aside without a thought. “You-Know-Who himself attacked them, I don’t know why, I don’t– Sirius, God, I don’t _know_ what happened, don’t you see–”

“ _What did she say?!_ ” Sirius’ voice booms in the atrium, making people milling about it turn to stare at them. Sirius doesn’t give a fuck; he can’t keep the shrillness out of his voice, making him sound like that Wretched Woman that raised him, can’t stop the drowning of despair from swallowing him up, can’t stop thinking about the worst case scenario, about James _gone_ –

“She said he claimed that You-Know-Who’s gone, that something happened at Godric’s Hollow and, and, and– it was something about the Dark Mark, something about it going faint, I don’t– I don’t know, Sirius, I didn’t wait for an explanation, I came here as fast as I could the _moment_ she told me, the _moment_ –”

 _Oh God, oh Merlin, please don’t let him be dead, please, please,_ please _don’t let him be dead_ , _I’m begging you, please, not James, anyone but James, please–_

Sirius is pushing the Portkey – a Muggle telephone card – into Remus’ hand the moment they burst through the Ministry entrance and past the anti-Portkey wards into the inkiness of early evening, not even caring anymore if anyone will see him use it, not giving a _fuck_ about his _job_ when it’s James’ life on the line.

A tug around his navel, the ugly sensation of being pulled inside out, and they’re in James’ home, next to the other modified Portkey, the one James keeps on his person always, the one that’s the anchor to his, as his is to it.

The house is a chaos, a bomb gone off, detritus of the ruins of Sirius’ life made manifest. Loud wailing rends the air around him, hurting his ears, shrieking like that of a Banshee, and for a moment he’s got eyes only for James’ body prostrate on the ground, hazel eyes blank in death and _oh God no, please, please, don’t be dead, James,_ please _don’t leave me, please_ and there’s movement in the corner of his eye, a shocked inhalation.

His eyes fly to the left, Auror training kicking in, and meet the familiar watery eyes in a pudgy face, and it’s a momentary relief, because it’s just Peter, it’s only Peter, he’s all right, except why the _fuck_ is he holding the pale, thirteen-inch long wand that Sirius knows by sight because he’s been on the other end of it twice, has locked eyes with its owner twice in his short life, and how did Peter even know to come here, no one at the Auror Office heard anything, Sirius wouldn’t have needed Remus to come get him if they had, and Remus had heard it from Evans, who’d heard it from their spy among the Death Eaters, so the Death Eaters must know, which–

The pieces slot in his mind with lightning speed and he growls, the deep, terrifying sound of a deadly canine, that makes Peter’s eyes bulge and his skin turn the colour of curdled milk, and in the next moment, they aren’t Peter and Sirius, they’re Wormtail and Padfoot, in pursuit of one another as the dog chases the rat through the house and out the door, until Peter transforms back mid-step and spins out of existence with the pop of Disapparition.

Sirius doesn’t waste any time, has not a thought to it. There’s a red haze fallen over his mind and eyes, of fury and despair and betrayal and grief, all rolled up into one thought – _get the traitor_. James’ sightless eyes haunt him, taunt him, because he’s _dead, James is dead, oh God, oh please, not James, please not James_ , and he will get the rat if it’s the last thing he does in this life. He’ll get him, and then they can do with him as they will, they might as well kill him, because without James he’s got nothing, _nothing_. James was everything, James was the best thing in Sirius’ life, James was–

Reaching for his deductive reasoning is hard, but Sirius is a hunter with skills honed by gruelling training and a bloody war, and he knows where to start – London and Lauris Pettigrew, the only person Peter – _that traitorous scum –_ might still care about. He visualises the rough area of London where Peter’s mother resides, spins in his step and Disapparates, only feeling at the very last moment the tug on his official Auror robes that makes him almost lose his balance and fall once he’s Apparated down south.

“Sirius, stop, for fuck’s sake! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Remus shouts out, grabbing hold of his wrist before Sirius can Disapparate again.

“It was _him_ , Remus,” he growls, trying to pull his hand free, but Remus’ grip is so tight he’ll be leaving bruises on Sirius’ skin. “He’s the traitor who killed James!”

“You-Know-Who killed James!”

“Because Peter betrayed us to him! He’s _been_ betraying us for months, don’t you see?!” He lets out a bark of laughter, half-crazed, and tries to pull away again without any more success. “It’s his fault Fabian and Gideon were murdered, he told Voldemort about their mission, and he sent Voldemort to James’ door.”

“Why?! Why would he’ve done that, Sirius! Think! It’s Peter.”

“You think I don’t know that, Remus?! Fucking hell, we thought it was _you_ all this time, don’t you see?! He knew we suspected you and used it, he used us and now James is _dead_ –” His voice breaks on a dry sob, because _God, please, he can’t be dead, oh God, not James, please not James_ , he swallows it down, smacks his palms against Remus’ chest, _hard_ , to make him let go.

“Tell me why you think it’s him, right now,” Remus demands, grabbing hold of Sirius’ other wrist, arms crossed, pressing Sirius’ palms tightly against his own chest, trapping Sirius to him. Doesn’t even blink when Sirius tells him they thought him a spy, doesn’t react at all. “What just happened back there? _Tell me!_ ”

“He had Voldemort’s wand, Remus! That was Voldemort’s wand, and no one but the Death Eaters knew that he’s gone, you said so, you said Lily heard it from a Death Eater and no one else knows or else the whole bloody Auror Corps would have been back there, so how the hell did he know? He saw us and he took Voldemort’s wand and he turned and he _ran_! It’s him, it’s his fault! I have to– Let me _go_ , Remus, I have to track the bastard down, I’m going to track him down–”

“And what?”

“And I am going to _murder_ him,” Sirius vows, so solemnly that magic sings in the air between them. Remus’ green eyes are hard and intent and they pin Sirius down, and he knows in that moment that Remus will let him go, will stand by him and help him. “I am going to tear his spine out by his tail, Remus. I will murder him with my bare hands. _We’ll_ do it together, for James and Mary.”

“And for Harry?”

Oh god, Harry. Darling, innocent, ball-of-sunshine Harry. “For him too.”

“Harry isn’t dead, Sirius.”

Air whooshes out of his lungs, and Sirius finally remembers the wails in the house. How could he have not recognised the wails for what they were?

Harry’s alive, Harry’s all right, Harry’s–

“We have to go back, Sirius, we left him there by his mother’s corpse.”

“Evans will take care of him,” Sirius shakes his head. “She’s got to be on the way too, she’ll look after him while we go track Peter down. Come on, we’ve not a minute to lose!”

“Sirius, _stop_! We can’t go off half-cocked after him. _You_ can’t go running off like we’re back at Hogwarts and it’s a prank!”

“A prank?!” Sirius screams out hysterically. “ _A prank_?! What is the _matter_ with you, Remus?!”

“ _I_ am not letting James’ death cloud my judgment, unlike you!” Remus shouts back, pulling with shocking force on Sirius’ wrists and making him stumble into Remus’ body until they’re so close Sirius can see nothing but Remus’ eyes, slightly blurry and brimming with emotion. He thinks he can see the wolf deep down, that other side of Remus, and it’s _furious_. “The Aurors will track him down; your first responsibility is to Harry! Harry, Sirius! He’s your responsibility, your godson!”

“Harry can _wait_ , Remus, _Peter won’t_!”

But he sees now that he was mistaken – no matter how much Remus wants to kill Peter, he’s got too much self-control, after a lifetime of fighting the basal urges that are slaves to the curse he carries in his blood. He won’t let himself get revenge, and if he gets his way, he won’t let Sirius do so, either.

“Let me go, Remus,” Sirius says quietly, deadly, because he _will_ put Remus on the ground if he’s got to. He won’t let anything stop him from doing what he must. “Right now. You go look after Harry if you won’t come with me, but don’t stand in my way.”

“Don’t make me, Sirius,” Remus replies, matching his tone with his own, so much more powerful one. Remus has _always_ been the most dangerous of them all, and never has Sirius been more aware of that than in this moment. “I’ll knock you out and tie you up if I have to, Sirius. Don’t make me.”

“You do what you’ve got do to, and I’ll do the same.” Then, with a surge of magic, Sirius says: “ _Stupefy_ ,” lets the magic coalesce from his hands, from his chest, from deep inside him, and Remus is flying back to smack against a lamppost and slump to the ground.

He’s always been good at wandless magic when he’s desperate.

He takes only one moment, one single moment, to make sure he hasn’t harmed Remus too badly – _not Remus too, I can’t have, James is gonegonegone, not Remus too, I can’t have lost him too –_ before turning to sprint down the street and into the first alley from which he can work to pick up Peter’s trail again.

Three steps, and his legs lock under him. He flies down to the ground, hard, the pain leaving him winded and muzzy for a moment as all his limbs stiffen and freeze into place.

“I can’t let you go after him, Sirius,” Remus’ voice floats softly to him from behind, and he’s turned over, left with nothing to do but glare a hole straight through his friend’s head. “Either he’ll kill you or you’ll kill him, but either way you’ll be throwing your life away, and Harry needs you. _I_ need you, flawed and faulty and as horrible a friend as you are. So you can hate me for this all you like, but I’m not letting you go on a crusade of vengeance out of grief. I’m sorry. _Stupefy_.”

The spell hits him square in the forehead, and Sirius knows no more.

* * *

 

When he comes back to consciousness, Sirius needs a few moments to orient himself, his mind cottony and slow. He’s in his small flat, the one he shared with James until James got married and bought the house in Godric’s Hollow, and the thought of James brings back the events of the evening, and Sirius can’t stop the hurt keen from escaping his lips, pain rending him from throat to groin at the thought of a world without James in it, a world in which James has left Sirius alone, in which James is _deaddeaddead_ and Sirius isn’t.

“How’s your head?” a familiar voice asks, and Sirius growls viciously, thinks about biting Remus’ hand when it comes to rest on his forehead, but the coolness of it is a blessed relief against the stabbing aches behind his sinuses, and instead he slumps into it.

“What did you do?” he asks quietly, resigned in a way he knows he wouldn’t have been three years ago, because two years of Auror Training has instilled some thought processes in his thick head, and this is one of them – however long Sirius has been out, Remus has used the time to make sure Sirius will be prevented from accomplishing his mission. He’s told someone, alerted the Auror Office or Dumbledore, and Sirius has surely lost the advantage he had. Going after Peter now would be tantamount to hitting himself with a Stunner, because he’d just end up obstructing an official manhunt and be thrown into Azkaban to be kept out of the way before he’s managed to make three moves. And that is if Remus doesn’t stop him _again_ , because if he’ll be doing something, it’ll be keeping a _very_ good watch on Sirius, after Sirius has proven he won’t be stopped so easily.

“What I had to,” Remus answers, pushing a tall glass filled with a clear liquid into his hand. “Here, drink. You’ll feel a bit better.”

It’s only water, but it does soothe Sirius’ throat a bit.

At least he can be part of the manhunt, he decides; it’s dangerous business, after all – no telling what sorts of accidents might befall panicking Death Eaters. It wouldn’t even be the first time in the war, he knows, though only through the grapevine and with a lot of conjecture.

He’ll just have to work within the boundaries of the Auror Office, and keep the biggest advantage to himself, the one that’ll buy him a few minutes on the rest of his colleagues he needs – the fact that no one else knows Peter is a very _literal_ rat.

He’ll _tear_ that traitor to _pieces_ with his _teeth_ , he will, Sirius vows bloodily. And oh, how he’ll enjoy it.

“Harry’s with Lily; the Aurors have been called to the scene, they’ll take care of James and Mary from here on out. Dumbledore has called a few of us into his office to try and figure out what the hell happened today, they’re waiting for us, so when you’re feeling up to standing, we really have to get going.”

Fury bubbles up in Sirius at the way that Remus’ voice is steady and calm and collected, because James is dead, _James is dead_ , how can he _possibly_ act as if it’s someone he doesn’t know, as if it’s not their _best friend_ , their fearless leader, their _Prongs_?

“Don’t you care at all?” he asks, pinning Remus down with a glare. “Don’t you fucking give a shit that James is _dead_?! How can you just sit there and talk like that?! Didn’t you love him?!”

“How dare you ask me that?” Remus hisses, baring his teeth savagely, face transforming into that fury that Sirius feels inside. “How _dare_ you?! You may have had the monopoly on James’ love, but you’re not the only one who loved _him_! James was my _best friend_ , next to Lily, better friend even than you. Fuck, he was a better man than you all around.”

“He suspected you, just like I did,” Sirius spits out viciously. “He was right there with me on it, Remus.”

“You think I’m not aware of that?” Remus lobs back. “You think I haven’t gotten you two figured out by now? You showed your face to me back in fifth year, Sirius, the both of you, and I’ve never forgotten. But he tried. At least he tried. You never did. It hurt him to suspect me, I could see that plain as day, but it never hurt you, did it? It validated you, and you liked that, because you’ve never tried to put yourself in my position, to understand me. But he did, and _that’s_ what made him better than you. And now you want to run off half-cocked after Peter and leave Harry alone, after he’s lost both his parents?! Your best friend’s son? _The last thing left of him_?! How _dare_ you! You aren’t a sixteen-year-old running away from home because your parents are being mean to you, with not a single concern to anyone but yourself! You’re twenty-one sodding years old, Sirius, and you’ve just become a father! Get your fucking priorities straight!”

Sirius flinches, gasps, slips in his haste to pull back until he’s sprawled awkwardly against the end of the couch. _Father_.

No. _No_.

 _James_ is Harry’s father. No one else, _no one_. _James_.

“Listen to me, Sirius,” Remus says, suddenly very near, and Sirius tries to retreat into himself, vanish from sight, dissolve into nothingness, just so that he can escape this new world he’s living in, just so that he can forget that James isn’t going to be there when he knocks on the door of that quaint little house, just so that the stabbing, burning, blooming pain in his chest would _stop_. “Sirius, are you listening to me?”

“ _Yes!_ Fuck, what else am I _supposed to do_ , Remus?!”

Remus’ face twists into a grimace, his hands landing on either side of Sirius’ neck and jaw, forcefully making their eyes meet. “You’re supposed to think of Harry, Sirius. As his godfather, you’re the one who gets custody of him. If you don’t want it, tell me, right now, and we’ll find someone else to take him in. But he’s lost his mother and his father in one day, and he is five months old, and no matter how you and I feel about what’s happened today, no matter how much we hurt because James is gone, Harry _must_ come first, do you understand me? He’s an innocent child that they died to protect, and it is on you now.”

“How, Remus?” Sirius croaks, licking his dry lips as an invisible fist squeezes his windpipe. “How do I do it? I don’t know the first thing about any of it.”

Remus stares at him for a very, very long time, seems like, just sits on the coffee table and holds Sirius’ face in his hands and stares, searching for something that Sirius can’t even begin to guess at. So he stares back, because what else can he do? James is gone, he’s gone and he’s not coming back, and Sirius is left behind, and if James needs him to look after the most precious thing he had in his life, then Sirius will do it, but he’s terrified of getting it wrong, of messing it up. The thought of being Harry’s father – of _stealing_ Harry from James – it makes him want to vomit.

He was never meant to be anything more than his godfather. He could have been a good godfather, the fun one who taught Harry how to prank and how to pull girls and how to fight and win. This... he never thought it would come to this, when James asked and Sirius accepted the honour of that title. It never even crossed his mind, not even when Mary reminded him the one time that it might well come to this.

He never really thinks things through, does he?

“I’ll help you,” Remus says in the end, hands falling to Sirius’ knees, looking deflated and almost as broken as Sirius feels, and it makes him flush with regret at his outburst. Remus is right; Sirius isn’t the only one with the prerogative of loving James. He should have remembered that.

“You’ll help?”

“I’ll help, however you need me to. It’s just the two of us left, Siri,” he whispers and Sirius watches his eyes fill with tears that spill over in a matter of seconds. It makes him wish he could cry, but his tear ducts feel dryer than the desert. “We’re all that’s left now. So we have to stick together, don’t we?”

“What about Lily?” he asks Remus, because he’s not an idiot, he knows that Remus has been Lily’s far more than Sirius and James’ in the last four years. In answer, Remus shrugs even as he wipes the tears off his cheeks.

“What about her?”

“Won’t she want your help?”

“Merlin, I suppose. If we’re right and You-Know-Who’s gone, then she’ll want to turn the politics around, we’ve been planning that for years. We’ll have to all work together to carve out time for everything, nothing else for it, then.”

“No, Remus, I meant, with her sprog. Won’t she need you to help her with Evan?”

That makes Remus blink.

“Not particularly; no more than James and Mary needed you until now.”

“So, he’s really not yours?”

The laughter Remus releases is more a bark than anything else, echoing with tapered howls around the edges, making Sirius shudder. It sounds half-crazed, wild and dangerous, but when he’s done, Remus does look a bit better.

“How you’ve not figured it out, I honestly don’t know, Evan’s looking more like him every day, really, except the eyes. I might as well tell you, anyway, he’ll be there, he’s the spy’s primary contact. Better you have your freak-out here than in front of everyone.”

“He who?”

“Severus, Sirius. Severus Snape.”

It’s so _impossible_ that Sirius’ brain short-circuits for a moment, blanking out and even forgetting the agony of James’ passing.

“ _What?_ ”

Remus nods, expression on his face dry as good wine, and oh Merlin, would a glass of strong wine do him good, because Sirius suddenly needs, more than anything in his _life_ , something to boost him a bit, _something_ to help him through the coming hours. He scrambles off the couch towards the bottle of Firwhiskey in the little cupboard and Remus lets him. All he says is: “Lily and Severus have been together since sixth year. Severus has been working with Dumbledore since fifth, before even that incident by the lake.”

“But he’s a Death Eater!”

“Actually, he’s not; Lily wouldn’t hear of him taking the Mark, and none of us are sure how he managed it, but the mercenary story he’s been selling everyone, that’s actually true. He’s been acting as a free agent selling his services to You-Know-Who and using it to feed Dumbledore information and the other side disinformation. Not as effectively as he could have, had he taken the Mark, but it’s thanks to him that we got our spy in the end, so he’s done well enough.”

Sirius drains the glass of Firewhiskey he's sloshed for himself, puts it down, the liquid courage, and never a more apt term than that one for strong liquor. 

“So you’re telling me that Evans _actually_ chose _Snivellus_ over _James_?!”

“ _That’s_ the most important thing to you right this second?” Remus demands to know incredulously, staring up at him. “Yes, of course she chose her best friend who sold himself to Dumbledore for her over the boy who strutted around without a care for the harm he did with his malicious attitudes! And why does it even matter to you? You’ve never liked Lily in the first place, you were over the moon when James and Mary got together.”

It’s the principle of the thing, but Sirius senses he really shouldn’t say that out loud, and besides, the mention of James and Mary brings back a question he’s put to the side for the moment.

He drains his second glass, and then pours one for Remus. He'd like to drink another glass, and another, and another, drown his sorrows and forget in a drunken stupor, but he won't. There's things to deal with, a little boy to bring home and vengeance to chase.

“You said James and Mary died for Harry. What did you mean by that?”

Remus deflates as he accepts the glass and chugs the Firewiskey down, shoulder dropping. “Harry’s got a curse scar on his forehead. I didn’t have time to check on him before I had to chase after you, so we only noticed after Hagrid and Lily got to Godric’s Hollow. And Lily says the spy claimed You-Know-Who was after Harry specifically, though I can’t fathom why that would be the case.”

“Why didn’t the spy warn us sooner? Who even is the spy in the first place, actually?”

“I don’t know either the identity or why he was so late with passing us this information, but I’m sure we’ll find out when we go through to Dumbledore’s office, he’ll be there. It’ll be you and me, Lily and Severus, Alice and Frank, and the spy.”

“None of the older members of the Order?”

“No, only those who somehow directly relate to what happened.”

“Alice and Frank, though?” Sirius has to note again. “I know they’re our friends, but what have they to do with Voldemort going after Harry?”

“I told you, I’ve no idea. To be honest, even Lily didn’t expect that, so whatever it is, Dumbledore hid it from all of us.”

“Oh, please, as if she’s relevant enough to know every move Dumbledore makes,” Sirius finds himself scoffing, and it feels good to focus something, _anything_ , else other than James’ vacant eyes, James’ prone body, James’ pallor in death, even if it’s got to be Dumbledore’s secretiveness and Saint Evans’ love life.

“She may not be, but Severus is, and they share most all with each other,” Remus points out.

“Snivelly, that important to Dumbledore? Get off it!”

“Believe what you will, Sirius, I’ve really no time to debate this with you. I only told you in the first place so that you don’t make a scene when we’ve so many other, more important issues to focus on. You’ll just have to take it on faith that Severus is on our side, and that he’s one of the people Dumbledore trusts the most at this moment. Lord knows if it was hard for you to believe I’d never betray you, then this’ll be damn near impossible, but you’ll have to try, because I fear that there are some big bombs about to land on all of us in the coming hours, and you can’t get side-tracked by school grudges.”

“Fine,” Sirius agrees resignedly, and even finds himself mostly meaning it. It’s obvious enough, though, that Remus is very right, that something enormous has happened and is still happening, which they’re smack-dab in the middle of, and he needs his wits about him, _James_ would need him to keep focused because Harry’s future will depend on him having all the relevant information in order to protect him. “What about Peter?”

“I’ve spoken with Mad-Eye, explained everything to him; he was already calling up a task force when I left him. He doesn’t believe that You-Know-Who is gone, but he’s already started getting reports that Death Eaters are in a state of confusion, so he’s going to use that tonight to try and catch as many as he can.”

“And what about that? How can he be gone?”

Remus shakes his head. “There’s nothing concrete known that I’m aware of, just that he was last confirmed to have gone into James and Mary’s house. Half of the house was collapsed when we got there, so whatever happened must have had _enormous_ magical discharge, and there’s no third body anywhere near the house, nor any indications of one having been blown up, either. But he’s not gotten into contact with his cohorts, and in fact, our spy showed Lily the Mark, and she says it looks different to how it was originally. So, whatever’s happened definitely affected You-Know-Who, though whether he’s dead or just injured and escaped, which I think to be more likely... I just don’t know, Sirius; that’s what this meeting with Dumbledore is supposed to be about, trying to make sense of everything.”

“All right.” Taking a couple of deep breaths, Sirius pushed himself up to his feet. “All right. Harry’s coming home with me, and you–”

“I’m staying here with you for a while, too,” Remus cut him off. “I won’t be able to be around too much, I need to get back to the packs, I bet Greyback’s already in the wind which means they’ll all fall into total disarray and that’s our window of opportunity, I _must_ use it–”

“What opportunity?”

“To get them over to our side, of course. I have to speak with Dumbledore about how much I’m allowed to tell you, but I’ll share what I can, perhaps that might convince you that you never had any reason to suspect me.”

Remus won’t be letting this one go any time soon, it’s becoming clear to Sirius. In light of Peter’s betrayal, Sirius really can’t blame him, though he still stands by his and James’ initial reasoning, because Remus had been behaving suspiciously for quite a while now, and werewolf packs are so very dangerous for a reason, they can turn a loner wolf around in a matter of days if they set their mind to it, and someone at least must have known that Remus was on the side of the Light.

He’ll deal with this later, Sirius decides; for now, Remus isn’t letting that stand in the way of either things that must be done or his friendship with Sirius, so Sirius will do the same. There will be time to sort everything out once other things have been taken care of.

Like James and Mary’s funerals. _Oh, Merlin, I can’t bury them, I can’t, not them._

He pushes all that away. Shock is for later; the only thing he’s got left, now that Remus has blocked his direct path of revenge, is Harry, and Sirius never does anything by half-measure.

Harry first. Everything else can come afterwards.

“You’ll have to let Lily help, too, you know,” Remus adds as he rises to his feet and moves to the fireplace, Sirius at his heels. “She has experience, and Mary was one of her best friends.”

“I can have Alice teach me what I need to know.”

“Alice will be even busier at the Auror Office than you will if it’s confirmed that he’s gone and the Ministry declares open hunting season on the Death Eaters. Just, don’t resist her offers of assistance. Not that you have much room to do so in any case, but things will go more smoothly if you let her walk you through the basics of infant care.”

Sighing, Sirius concedes. “But Harry is mine, and you’ll make sure she understands that.”

“I will.”

And with that, Sirius steels himself for a long, long night ahead, and an untold number of unpleasant surprises that he’s sure he’ll be facing. But he’s got his Auror Training to fall back on, which has taught him how to persevere in high-stress environments under less than ideal conditions, and he’s got Remus by his side. He’ll make it through.

For Harry – for James and his legacy, the thing he loved most in life, the one thing left of him – he’ll make it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't yet know (since I won't be showing the conversation that directly follows this scene here), the spy in question is Sirius' younger brother Regulus. I'll elucidate on how he became a spy in a later chapter, but suffice it to say that it's a direct consequence of Severus never having been a Death Eater in this verse.


	4. 26.12.1980

**26 December 1980**  
**Waning Gibbous**  
**(76%)**

_“He’s not an orphan, you blind old fool! You would make him an orphan with your self-serving schemes, and if we let you, then it will be on all our consciences, not just yours, if his life turns to ashes beneath him! You would ruin an innocent child for the servitude to some self-fulfilling words and the belief that you know best! Are you that cold-hearted, Albus Dumbledore, that you would walk over the very sacrifice his parents have made, that you would walk over their graves and not once look down, because you need yet another sycophant to worship you?”_

_“And what would you have me do?”_

_“Have you do?! Harry has a family! Sirius is his family!”_

* * *

The world starts crashing on Christmas of 1980 around seven in the evening, and it keeps crashing for the rest of the night, tumbling into the darkness over and over itself, shaking every single belief and conviction each of them has, shaking their understanding of the world and the people in it, of their allies and enemies, of friends and foes. And by the time it stops, just for a second, just long enough for Remus to catch his breath, it’s spun so out of control that he can’t even recognise it, has no chance of getting his bearings.

He thinks, sitting in Dumbledore’s office at Hogwarts on the quiet, snowy night five days after the full moon, of the first sight of James and Mary’s home – the debris, the gaping hollowness in the side of the house, the furniture upturned and torn apart, the wooden boards and plaster dust, the jagged edges of the bricks like maws of a dragon fed with explosives, blood-red in the light of the moon shining off the snow outside, and Harry’s terrified wails like a maddening soundtrack to the view.

That’s what the world is, in the small hours of the morning, on Boxing Day of 1980. The enemy of so long is gone without a trace, and in his place is a weary, old man who’s broken himself against their youth and their vision of the world. The friend is the traitor responsible for the death of the most important people in their lives, and the enemy is the brother responsible for letting them know in time to salvage as much as could be.

And in the middle of it all is an innocent little baby whose life, as of tonight, will forever be marked by the events of the day and the years that preceded it, by the lows to which their society has sunk.

Rubbing his eyes and face with his fingers, Remus takes a moment to just breathe, to absorb what little he can and put away everything he cannot until tomorrow, because it is almost three in the morning and there is so much yet left to be done tonight. The wolf is awake somewhere deep inside him, Remus can feel it, it’s too close still to his transformation for it to be in slumber. But for once, even the wolf isn’t raging, doesn’t have the energy for it. It’s like Remus’ whole being has been grabbed and squeezed dry, and there’s nothing left inside him to fuel him anymore.

Sighing inaudibly, he looks up, studies the weathered, wrinkled face of the man he once admired beyond all others, the man who had first extended the hand of the wizarding world to him and taken him into its fold, studies the piercing blue eyes behind half-moon glasses, usually so sharp, now almost vacant and glassy, the tear tracks on the leathery skin and white whisker bristles. He wonders almost idly if anyone has ever seen this sight, if anyone has ever been awarded the terrible privilege of it, of the emperor brought low, of the revered exposed so raw.

It’s the first time in his life that Remus can pinpoint in which a single event, a single conversation, a single evening, has made him see a person as exactly what they are, without his own subjective blinds, without the wishfulness, without the naiveté, without bias. He went through such things in live several times, with James and Sirius, with Peter, with Lily and Severus, with his own father and even his mother, the person he loved and respected most in the world. But it never turned on a single evening, not ever, it was always a process, a percolation, a digestion and gradual adjustment.

And now he knows – Dumbledore is only a man, no god. He is only a man like any other, driven by ego and fears and his own past nipping at his heels. He is a man who makes mistakes for reasons that make sense in his own head, and the biggest mistake the world has made has been to put him on a pedestal of morality and righteousness, until he himself has started believing it. But no matter Remus’ disappointment and disgust, no matter the pain in his heart, of another father figure breaking his trust and destroying the faith he had in them, there is goodness still, and hope, and he clings to that.

How have they reached this point, this knife’s edge, this cliff-face they need to leap off of, because it has crumbled to dust beneath their feet? Why did James and Mary have to give their lives for the world to be rid of Voldemort?

A prophecy, a year old or close enough as to make no real difference, said by a woman named Sybill Trelawney, whom Dumbledore had been interviewing for a possible job position at Hogwarts. A prophecy that Dumbledore witnessed and someone from the other side overheard, of a way to defeat Lord Voldemort. A prophecy that Dumbledore kept secret from all of them until it was far too late to do anything about it.

“Bellatrix said that the Dark Lord’s spy in the Order had overheard a part of the Prophecy,” Regulus explained once the topic was opened – and there it was, yet another of those topsy-turvy tumbles in reality, Sirius’ younger brother, the obedient son and loyal Death Eater, working secretly for the Light with Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. “ _T_ _he one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies._ ”

Peter must have been the one to overhear the Prophecy, that’s their first assumption extrapolated from this knowledge. It fits, certainly, and Remus knows that Sirius will be trying to confirm it in any possible way in the coming days. What hurt – still does – almost as much as that realisation is the fact that Dumbledore had held this information to himself for five months. Whether or not Dumbledore had known, or at least suspected, that he’d been overheard, that’s irrelevant, they’ve all agreed, because the threat was inherent for Harry and Neville at least, and Dumbledore hadn’t seen fit to inform either set of parents.

He’s told Sirius that he was afraid of the bombs that were about to fall on them this night, Remus remembers with an inner, self-deprecating laugh. And oh, but those bombs have fallen, all right, one after the other, with no time for a single breath in-between.

The Prophecy, and then the aftermath – Dumbledore wanting to put Harry up with Mary’s grandmother, her only living relative and the Muggle woman who had raised their friend, depriving therefore Sirius of his legal and moral right to Harry’s care.

The reason for this, the worst by far.

 _“Placing Harry with people ignorant of our world isn’t the only way to make the boy understand the preciousness of it, or to make him trust me the way you don’t seem to._ Those are your thoughts, then? You are no better than Grindelwald or Riddle, and I am ashamed to be your protégé.”

Severus plucked those thoughts out of Dumbledore’s head, and how he did it, Remus doesn’t know and doesn’t much care. All he knows is that the way Dumbledore deflated gave those words their weight in truth, and forever altered the way that Remus saw his mentor.

They spent what must have been hours deconstructing the old man after that, deconstructing the mistakes that were made, the choices that led to that exact moment, the facts of the situation. Dumbledore let them rifle through his brain, let them spit accusation after accusation into his face, and when it was all over, when there was little else of the great wizard left before them, then Harry was theirs, along with the bitter knowledge that they’d placed their trust in the wrong place, had fallen prey to an ideal, a myth, the myth of the invincible, infallible, great Albus Dumbledore, the saviour of Wizarding Europe and Britain most of all.

They should have placed that trust in themselves from the very start.

* * *

 

Sirius is the first through the Floo, still so utterly furious and grief-stricken and shocked that his hands are shaking, which is about the only reason he lets Lily keep holding Harry while he goes back to lower the wards on his flat. Remus lets him go, but stays back a bit, needing a moment to himself, a moment in which to stop the full weight of the events of this night and the immediate future settling on his shoulders. He’s boxed things up before arriving here, has been trying to wrangle everything that was revealed this night into that same box, and he knows that opening it all up will leave him probably less than useful to anyone, so with great effort, he forces himself to stay in the moment, to just breathe and not think about  everything that has happened in the last twelve hours – Merlin has it only been _twelve hours_ _ago_ that James had been laughing, ready to run headlong into danger for his friends and family and the cause he believes– _believed_ in? Remus can’t imagine a world without James in it, not yet. He can’t imagine a world without the darkness of the war hanging over it either, but that’s here too, more or less.

All he wants is to curl up in that horrid little shack on the edge of Hogsmeade village and howl to the moon, because James is _gone_ , he’s gone, and the world hasn’t asked his permission to keep turning, to keep going.

It’s long practice that allows him to achieve this sort of iron-self control as he busies his body instead with rifling through the bag Mary’s friends have put together, their donations to Harry’s most immediate upkeep, letting it hold off the grief and disbelief and pain in his soul. Sirius and Harry need him, that much has already become far too painfully apparent. The thought of what Sirius was about to do, to him and to Harry, is painfully fresh in his mind, igniting such incandescent anger that Remus is afraid for his control, afraid for those who might find themselves on the other end of it if the fury unleashes.  But then if Remus hasn’t gone off on Sirius for losing his common sense and prioritising revenge on Peter over _Harry’s wellbeing_ , then it’s not likely he’ll be losing it over anything else.

“Are you staying with him?” Lily asks softly, running her hand almost compulsively through the baby’s wild black hair, supporting him firmly by his bottom with the other as he sleeps in that makeshift sling out of long pieces of cloth that all the girls like so much. Remus can see the brittleness beneath her exterior. She looks battered and buckling under the weight of it, and Merlin, Remus can hardly remember that she’s not even twenty-one yet. He’s not either, but then he’s long ago forgotten what being young feels like, his Father made sure of that.

“Yes,” Remus answers, taking a glance at Dumbledore’s fireplace. “I should have gone after him immediately.”

“He won’t be so rash, not after all... this,” Lily replies with a tiny shake of her head. “I don’t think he understood what Dumbledore had meant to do with Harry.”

“Don’t fool yourself, Lily; he didn’t even think about it,” Remus corrects her darkly. “It’s that bloody single-mindedness of his. I just didn’t think that Harry wasn’t going to be able to compete with James even in matters of life and death.”

“I’ll come through with you,” she decides, rocking the baby very gently in her arms, a soothing, repetitive motion that Remus has watched her become expert in over the last half-year, that he knows she’s doing for herself now, not for Harry, who is asleep. “Give me a minute, I need to see with Severus, Alice and Frank about Evan.”

Lily’s own son, whom she’s left in the same care as Neville Longbottom. Now that Severus’ paternity of the boy is no longer a secret around this particular group of people (if it ever really was; with the raven hair and that little aquiline nose, it’s not very hard to see Severus in Lily’s son if you know what you’re looking for, and excepting perhaps Frank and Sirius, everyone present in the room this evening would have known exactly what to look for), Remus wonders how long it’ll take for attitudes to readjust, for trust to be extended.

In this, it soon becomes clear, it’s rather a quick turnabout, because the Longbottoms certainly do not appear to be concerned in the least with having Severus entering their home. Remus studies the Slytherin boy for a moment, notes the utter blankness of his expression, the rigidity of his shoulders. Remembers how inflectionless his voice was when he recited Dumbledore’s thoughts for all of them to hear.

More than just two lives were lost tonight, and it’ll be a very long time before they all heal.

Remus sighs and shoulders the bag. Tomorrow is soon enough to think of those things. Tonight, there is only one priority, and that is the orphan whose life they’ve all fought for and won. No orphan, if they all have anything to say about it, and Remus certainly does.

“Where have you been?!” Sirius barks out as soon as Remus emerges from the fireplace in his flat. His eyes are wilder than they were, and there’s a half-drunk glass of firewhiskey on the kitchen table.

“Sorting the last of it out,” Remus replies tiredly, knowing that his night is still long from over but honestly not sure where he’ll be finding energy to go on. It’s barely been four days since his transformation, he’s not yet up to his full levels as is. And it’s only – Merlin, two in the morning. Not even.

It feels like it’s been years, it really does.

“Where is he? Where’s Harry?”

The fire flares green, almost as if in response to his query, and Lily comes through, cradling the baby protectively to her chest. Her arms must be tired some by now, Remus thinks distractedly. She’s been holding Harry practically since she intercepted Hagrid trying to retrieve him and brought him to Hogwarts, and whose _idiotic_ idea it was to send _Hagrid_ as a baby delivery service? Remus wants to strangle Dumbledore for it, for what the old wizard really meant with that particular order.

Leave him in the Muggle world with Mary’s grandmother, when there are so many better guardians for him in the wizarding world. Really, the lengths to which Dumbledore will stoop... Remus still hasn’t managed to wrap his head around it.

The moment Lily’s footing is firm, Sirius swoops in between her and Remus and plucks Harry none-too-gently out of her hands and the sling. Startled shrieks in a _very_ high decibel immediately ring through the flat, because what else was Sirius expecting would happen if he woke the baby up in such manner, and Remus exhales forcibly because the other option is yelling at the idiot. Harry’s immediate reaction is to extend his hands for Lily and kick his little feet in a wholly ineffective attempt at getting back to the safety of the embrace he’d been peacefully sleeping in for most of the night.

“What is _wrong_ with you, Sirius?” Lily hisses angrily, reaching her hands for the baby. Sirius’ reaction is to pull back, trying to turn Harry around and hug him properly, which Remus knows is almost impossible when the infant doesn’t want to be held. Lily’s eyes flash in anger – she’s dead on her feet, that much is obvious, and her patience is almost completely run out. She’s got a grieving partner to deal with at home and her own six-month-old who needs her. And Sirius is acting like a territorial dog with a bone.

“Sirius,” Remus snaps, “give him _back_ , this instant!”

“He’s mine!”

“You didn’t bloody stop to think that six hours ago, so you don’t get to pull that shite now. Hand him _back_ to the adult who knows better than to terrify a traumatised five-month-old because he’s feeling like a dog in need of pissing on his own territory!”

The way Sirius’ face pales is almost gratifying to see, and Remus’ outburst is worth it, because the other boy does as he’s instructed. The moment Harry’s in Lily’s arms again, his cries quieten, and his tiny, tiny fingers fist in her robes.

Remus lets it go; he’s watched Sirius with Harry often enough that he knows this is only the most physical manifestation of his crazed panic and whaling grief, that when he thinks, he is perfectly careful with the little guy, has never abided by anyone manhandling him. The fact that he himself is falling into that pit now is just proof of how unhinged he is, underneath it all.

But then, to one extent or another, Remus thinks they all are, and he can’t resent him that.

“He is not an object you can handle however you wish,” Lily tells Sirius, voice forcibly kept low, not nearly as familiar with Sirius’ skills in this department, and she starts to rub soothing circles with her hand on Harry’s back to calm him even further. “And you haven’t a first clue about babies or childrearing, so stop posturing with me, sit the bloody hell down, and pay attention.”

When Sirius finally does as she’s instructed, Lily sighs, rubs her eyes and forehead tiredly, and herself takes a seat in one of the armchairs. Supporting Harry with expertise born of the last six months all the while, she unties the sling and lets it fall to the chair around her waist.

“Remus, there should be some muslin cloth in the bag Alice put together.”

By the time he’s fulfilled her request, Sirius is releasing inarticulate noises, and Remus has finally figured out why exactly she might need it, instead of simply leaving Harry with them and going home – Lily’s now unbuttoning the rather complicated-looking robes she’s wearing, Harry settled fussily on her lap, but he rather seems to know what is coming, because his hands are waving in the air and he’s making the same sort of motions with his mouth that Remus has seen Evan make when he’s hungry.

“What are you–”

“It’s called nursing, Sirius,” Lily replies with a mighty roll of her eyes, offering Remus a quick smile when she accepts the things he hands her. In the end, the two boys watch in utter silence as Lily settles Harry on her right breast, and it takes her a minute or two to coax him into complying, but once he’s latched on, he seems far more content than he’s been since Sirius so unceremoniously woke him up.

Meanwhile, Remus thinks a bit amusedly – and doesn’t that feel alien, to be amused, when just moments ago the world looked like it would never hold any joy again – this might be the first time in Sirius’ life that he’s connected a woman’s breast with its actual, intended purpose. Or he might just be shocked speechless by seeing Lily’s breast in the first place (not that there’s all that much to see, the maternity robe’s design is really very good at allowing nursing women their modesty).

“I don’t imagine you have any formula here?” Lily asks with a lifted eyebrow, obviously totally rhetorically. When she gets no answer, she nods, more to herself than them, and continues: “Alice forgot to pack food for him and we all need some sleep, so this is the quickest option. I’ll talk to Alice about us passing you more, maybe Molly as well.”

“Why? You just said there’s formula,” Sirius protests grumpily.

“Because I think that breast milk is better for babies than formula. And if you want a more practical reason, you know how fussy Harry is about being fed from a bottle; we don’t need to start compounding to our difficulties with a different flavour to his food, as well. We can shift him to formula gradually if you want, it’ll be less stressful for everyone.”

“Fine; you’re apparently the expert here anyway.”

Lily chooses to let that one go. “I’ll also change him after he’s fed to teach you how it’s properly done,” she says instead.

“Maybe he should have gone home with you tonight anyway?” Remus suggests, because it’s looking more and more daunting to have to deal with all of this _now_. But Lily shakes her head.

“If he’s staying with Sirius, which is what we agreed on, then he needs to get used to it as soon as possible. Not having Mary,” her voice wavers, and she takes a hitched breath before continuing, “not having his mother for comfort will be the hardest. At least Sirius isn’t a complete unknown,” she adds _sotto voce_ , something dark and familiar flashing in her eyes. “Just... when he cries, hold him. Don’t ignore him or be impatient with him, all right? He may not have realised yet that she’s gone, but he’ll be inconsolable for a while when he does, and he needs you to make him feel safe.” She gives Remus a significant look after Sirius subduedly nods his head, and they understand each other perfectly well. There are two people who need handling in this flat, not one, and Remus has already volunteered to do it.

What the hell has he gotten himself into?

Sirius doesn’t say a word in the next hour, as Lily goes through childcare in shortest possible lines that still somehow end up holding more information than Remus has managed to glean from watching Lily and Evan in the last six months, and certainly far more than Sirius ever absorbed from being around Mary. It’s only for the next few days, because there’s hysteria to contend with tomorrow, when the world learns that Voldemort is gone, and there are funeral arrangements to be made, too. Merlin, Remus is so bloody tired of those. In the last three years he’s been to more funerals than he thought a single person would ever need to go to in their life.

But he’s had experience; both he and Lily have, as a matter of fact, and now that there’s no one else but them to do it, they can handle it. It’ll all be handled, and properly.

“I’ll go see Bettina tomorrow, tell her the news. Hopefully she’ll be up to helping you around,” Lily says once she’s shown them how to change Harry’s nappies and has put him in the middle of Sirius’ bed with pillows on both sides to ensure he’d not roll over. She digs up an empty bottle out of the bag and begins shuffling with her robes again, though this time her wand makes an appearance, as well. “Thank Merlin for magic,” she comments distractedly, her focus on her left breast this time. “You should see the Muggle apparatus for pumping. _Suctus_.” It makes her wince, but a minute later she hands them the bottle back, now nearly full with milk. “Put it in the fridge, it’ll do you for tomorrow morning; and for Merlin’s sake, make sure you don’t heat it up too much and burn him.”

“I’m not a complete philistine, Evans, I know how to prepare milk from the ice box for him,” Sirius snaps at her.

“Oh, well done, Sirius, let me get you your ‘not a complete philistine’ medal,” Lily replies just as snappily, rolling her eyes. “Once we’ve all gotten some sleep, we’ll meet up for brunch – say eleven, at Alice and Frank’s – and figure out a battle plan from there. Tomorrow will be utter chaos, I’m certain, but we’ve some heavy duty clean-up to do.”

“And the funerals, too,” Remus adds quietly, and Lily nods, swallowing with difficulty.

“And friends to bury. Good night.”

And so Remus is left alone with Sirius, whose mutinous gaze falls blank and numb as soon as Lily is through the Floo. Sighing heavily, Remus grabs hold of his hand and tugs.

“Come on, we both need sleep.”

“But the couch–”

“You’re sharing the bed,” Remus tells him sternly. “I’m too bloody exhausted from the full moon, and I am not leaving you alone. Deal with it.”

“I don’t think we’ve done that since...”

“Since fifth year, yes,” Remus confirms curtly, remembering exactly when the last time was they all shared a bed – two months before Remus was so unceremoniously ejected out of their group for the summer. Things really have changed since then, it’s hard to remember sometimes what it was like to be that Remus, the one too desperate for approval to fight for his own opinions and stances.

Sirius doesn’t make a comment on any of it, just slips out of his clothes and into his sleeping pants before sliding into one side of the bed, while Remus strips to his pants and crawls into the other, the pillows keeping Harry protected from either of them rolling onto him. He’s on his stomach, face turned to Sirius, hands clenched into tiny, loose fists, and he’s so beautiful Remus’ heart aches.

Poor, darling boy, who won’t even get to remember his Mum and Dad, because of some words a stupid ditty of a woman said and the spiteful betrayal of the boy they’d all thought their friend.

Remus lets the mournful howls deep inside him lull him to sleep, while on Harry’s other side, Sirius curls up into as tight a ball as he can and shifts, until it’s a massive canine head that comes to rest on the pillow, soft breaths ruffling Harry’s wispy hair.

In the silent darkness, the painful truth hangs – nothing will ever be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've said in the previous chapter, I've skipped over the actual confrontation scene between Dumbledore and the seven youngsters (for clarity, those seven are Lily and Severus, Alice and Frank, Remus and Sirius, and Regulus), but I think this was sufficient explanation for what happened, and for further clarification, visit Chapter 5 of _The Lion, The Snake and The Stone_ , The Kingdom and Its King; the second scene there is Dumbledore ruminating and reminiscing on this very event, and that's as clear as I've written it so far (the actual scene will be the closing chapter of my story _The Path Not Tread_ , which is why I'm leaving it out).
> 
> Additionally, Chapter 5 of my one-shot collection, _Ten Years of Peace (And a Few More of War)_ is the continuation of the evening from the perspective of characters not the Marauders (putting it up at the same time as this), so go check it out as well if you want.
> 
> One last thing - breast milk sharing is a practice that's been around for thousands of years (because what else were wet nurses?), and I am only acknowledging it here. I am not taking either side on the debate of that practice vs baby formula (i.e. my characters' opinions are their own, and not meant to promote anything). But I do imagine that, given how most of the wizarding world seems to be more in the 18th century than 20th, they might be more inclined towards breast milk sharing than formula (which I personally associate with non-magical problem solutions, though of course I see no reason why the magical world wouldn't have come up with some sort of baby food for infants; after all, new mothers would probably have faced the same issues pertaining to this question regardless of magic), and Lily is a willful person who has taught herself by this age not to care too much about convention when forming her own opinions.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are curious about how the AU came about, the events are depicted in my story _The Path Not Tread_ , covering the Marauder era (fair warning, that's a Snily story, hence Harry's mother being Mary Macdonald, rather than Lily Evans; however, the Snily aspect of PNT doesn't factor into this story beyond background mentioning, so for those who dislike it, it's easy to ignore).


End file.
